Everything's Alright?
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: "--It's a secret." One hand left my leg and grabbed at the shoulder of my jumper, hauling me forwards, until I was strewn on top of him, my face inches away from his. It was an almighty compromising and uncomfortable position.


**A.N: **Expect a Sequel, as this was actually ten times longer than it is. I've just cut one big chunk out of it, because I was convinced the last was far too long for a oneshot.

* * *

"_Alohamora_," I whispered, and the door clicked silently.

It was eerily silent. I'd never really gone into the Defence classroom at night, we'd never had reason to make any pranks in that particular room. The classroom was so dark, I almost thought it'd been engulfed in Peruvian Instant-Darkness Powder. I could've easily lit the torches on the walls, but I was afraid I'd freak Professor Moody if he saw light suddenly erupting in his classroom from his office. I'd heard the story of how he'd freaked out when he heard a noise in his garden one night, suddenly setting jynxes on all of the dustbins around the house to stop anyone getting in. There wasn't even anyone there, apparently, just a cat or a breeze of wind knocking something noisily into the pavement. I could live without Professor Moody throwing a Bat Bogey hex at me, or worse.

I lit my wand instead, and hurried silently up the stairs at the front of the classroom that led to the Defence office. There was a small window on the door, but a blind was drawn across it. I lowered my wand to the handle of the door, and noticed a small peice of parchment stuck to the door.

_DO NOT DISTURB._

_Ill. May be contageous. Enter at own risk. _

_Will be safe to continue work by the new term. _

_Alistor Moody_

I raised my eyebrows. Moody clearly didn't want visitors. But I only had to show him one thing, and it'd been so hard to persuade Harry to let George and I borrow it. Professor Moody wouldn't mind that. And the Mauderer's Map was such an extrodinary find, he couldn't argue with that. If he really, really was sick, like Professor McGonagall made out, I told myself I'd offer to get something from the kitchens for him. The house-elves loved mine and Georges company; loved giving us food. As much as they could stuff into our arms, really.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped on the door with my wand. There was no answer. No sound from within. Nothing.

Strange. Very strange. Professor Moody would at least shout out that he requested no visitors.

I knocked a little harder, with my knuckles this time.

Again, no sound. I pressed my ear to the window. There wasn't even the sound of heavy breathing or snoring coming from inside, but I could hear the ticking of a clock. Like that was helpful.

"Professor," I called out hopefully. "Professor Moody!"

Silence.

I was beginning to feel queasy, now. What if Professor Moody was _really_ ill? What if he'd fallen on his way to the bedroom that was in the back of the office, and banged his head? He could be knocked out or bleeding to death on the floor and no one would know.

A sense of pride washed over me. If _I _found Professor Moody and managed to save him, I'd be labelled a hero. I could be famous. I could get money, and use it as funds for our shop.

Holding the breath in my throat, I put my hand on the doorhandle and twisted it. It was locked once again, not really a suprise. If Moody had something to hide he was hiding it mighty well. I muttered the spell under my breath once more, and after a moment, I heard the telltale _click_ again, and I pushed the door open.

The office room was filled with all of Moody's belongings and artifacts. A strange looking mirror was on one side of the room, a large trunk that was rattling violently, and a sneakascope on a stand. It was spinning wildly, then pointing directly at me, obviously trying to tell it's owner there was an imposter. Said owner was not in this room.

I looked towards the door behind the desk of Moody's office. The same message was scrawled on a peice of parchment and stuck to this door, but I didn't turn away. I _should've _turned away, oh hell, how I wish I'd turned away. But curiosity killed the cat, and I was heading that way almost as surely as I was heading towards the door.

It was maimed with the same locking charm that I easily broke through, and I was welcomed by the darkness of a large bedroom. In the centre of the room was a four-poster bed, similar to the ones in the Griffyndor tower, except this had navy blue curtains shrouding it instead of red and gold. A huge bellied cauldron stood nearby the bed, bubbling with something that reeked horrific. I avoided the pot and crept towards the bed, pushing the curtains aside slowly.

The figure on the bed, still wearing the heavy, dark brown leather trench coat, had his face buried in the pillows.

It wasn't Moody. His hair was the colour of dirty straw, his smaller, thinner body still consumed by Moody's bigger clothes. I dived away from the bed instantly, shocked and mesmirised by what I'd just seen. In my haste to get away from the bed, I bumped into the cauldron, and it collapsed to the floor, spilling it's contents all over the carpet. I watched in horror as it bubbled and singed the rug slightly. Polyjuice potion.

The commotion awoke the stranger. I saw a light appear behind the curtain, and the sillouhette of the man rose behind the screen. I backed against the door, grabbing at the handle, twisted it, but it had closed behind me when I came in, and locked itself automatically. A fearful whine escaped my throat. A sound I'd never heard come from my own mouth. I slid down the door, struck to a standstill by terror.

He whipped the curtain back and climbed off the bed. He wasn't a great deal older than me, definitely not as old as Moody. His neck and chin were shadowed with unshaven stubble, fair hair falling into his wide, crazy, icy blue eyes that were shooting around the room for the culprit. They landed on me. He marched forward, wand outstretched, until the tip made contact with my forehead. I whimpered.

"Fred Weasley," he snarled, growling low in his throat. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. "Explain why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"I-I-I _who are you_?" I choked out, my eyes fixed on this man. He ignored me.

"_Crucio_!"

Suddenly, I was hit by a thousand white-hot burning knives, stabbing me over and over again. A scream tore from my throat, and I clutched and grabbed at my body for all I was worth, writhing and groaning on the ground. He lifted the curse after what seemed like an age.

"Why are you here?!" He yelled. "Can you not read? Do you know it's impolite to unlock other peoples doors, when there already is a _Do Not Disturb _notice? _Two _in fact?!" He yelled.

"I'm---sorry--I--wanted--to--ask--"

"_Crucio_!"

The blinding pain came again. My eyes screwed up and I could've cried with the pain. I held the tears back, however. "Please...I'm sorry.." I begged, my forehead pressed to the floor, in front of his feet. He pressed the base of his foot to my head and shoved me back roughly, reaching down and grabbing my hair, yanking me upwards. "Mr Weasley is in detention for the rest of the week. But right now, Mr Weasley will _cut his hair_, as it's length is quite simply ridiculous."

"You're not a proffessor," I spat out before my brain had registered the comment. His grip on my hair increased.

"Do you want me to do it for you?" He hissed. I shook my head violently. His fist released my hair and I fell to the floor thankfully. The man turned his back on me, and started rifling through a draw, until he retrieved a knife. For one shocking moment I thought he was going to stab me with it, judging by the horrific way he held it up threateningly, but he flipped it over in his hand, until the blade rested on his palm, the handle facing me. Shuddering, I took it from him with a quivering hand. He folded his arms and glared down at me expectantly.

I leaned back against the door, quivering, and brought the knife to my hair, hacking at it slowly. I couldn't think, hell, I could hardly breathe. My mind was still spinning the thought of showing Professor Moody the map. I couldn't show this stranger the map, Merlin knows what he would do with it. Though, whoever he was, he did have a point. My hair was getting ridiculously long. George would probably follow suit when he saw the state of my hair when I went back to the common room. When I was satisfied, I laid the knife back down on the floor, in front of him. I'd left a generous amount of my fringe on, but the back of my neck felt cold. Mum would go mental.

"Get up," he demanded. Without speaking, I shakily climbed to my feet, the aching from the Cruciatus curse still stinging every pore on my body.

"Who are you," I whispered again. He slapped me hard around the face.

"You're not going to tell _anyone _about this, are you, Fred Weasley?"

My head jerked sideways from the force of his slap. "Who...no...I'm not..." I mumbled in response.

He stepped closer to me, his wand digging painfully into the skin underneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. "Who am I?"

"I don't..wait..." Something niggled at the back of my head. "Where _is _Professor Moody?" I asked.

A smirk washed across his features. "Half dead."

My eyes widened. This...this..._imposter_, claiming such a thing? Such a thing on the well-known Moody? I lunged at him, knocking him onto his back and climbing onto his waist, my own wand at his throat. He had dropped his and let it clatter to the floor in the shock of my attack. My thighs held him to the ground firmly. He grinned up at me.

"Feisty."

"Shut up!" I practically screamed, jabbing the wand so hard into his neck his smirk faltered slightly.

"What are you going to do, Weasley?" he sneered. "Kill me?"

"Tell me who you are," I whispered. "Tell me..!"

"Unlikely. You don't know what it's like to have the weight of death on your conscience."

"Tell me!" I screeched.

"Go on, Weasley, kill me!" His grin was so wide I could see almost every perfectly gleaming white tooth.

"_Crucio_!" I cried. Nothing happened. "Crucio, cr...crucio..." I was almost sobbing.

"You have to _mean _it, Weasley! Come on, do it again!" He yelled.

"_Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!_" I slapped my wand against his neck repeatedly. "_Crucio_!" Finally, a jet of light erected from my wand and hit him, right at the base his throat. He groaned in pain underneath me.

"Good, good. You have what it takes, don't you, Weasley? Do it again."

"_Crucio_," I hissed. I was so angry. Once again, the figure squirmed below me. I'd had enough, but as I made to stand up, strong, flat palms held my shins in place. "Let me go," I mumbled. "Let me go!"

"Do you want to know my name, Weasley?" He muttered, his voice hoarse. "Come closer."

"What? You fu--"

"--It's a secret." One hand left my leg and grabbed at the shoulder of my jumper, hauling me forwards, until I was strewn on top of him, my face inches away from his. It was an almighty compromising and uncomfortable position. He leaned forward, until his lips brushed my earlobe. "_Bartemius Crouch_."

I blinked, and pulled myself away from him quickly, ripping my other leg from his grip and sliding on my rear back towards the door. "Are you saying you polyjuice as the old guy who's been monitoring the Triwizard Tournament, too?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, you complete idiot. Why would I use my own name if that was the case? He's my father."

The tone of his voice clearly indicated that this wasn't a subject to be discussed.

"Why did you tell me your name?" I asked.

"Because you persisted in asking me," Bartemius replied quietly.

"I didn't expect you to."

"I know. I told you, because I know that by telling you, you're not going to tell anyone else." He smiled broadly. I sighed, defeated. "And if anyone _does _find out, I'll know it was you. Practically every other soul on the planet believes I am dead."

Once again, the tone.

"Wh...what am I to do in detention?" I asked softly.

He jerked his head towards the ruined polyjuice cauldron. "You will help me re-prepare that. Thanks to you, I'm not going to be able to get through an entire day being Alistor Moody for another month. Which means I won't be able to teach for two weeks when the new term begins. You will explain the reason. You insisted on coming to Professor Moody's office to ask a pointless question, to which you knocked over the vat of instant-flu repelling solution he had been brewing, the overwhelming fumes causing Moody to break out into an even worse batch of Cold."

"But it's all a lie," I pointed out.

"So, sue me. That's none of your business." He pointed towards the door.

"Bartemi--"

"Call me Barty."

"Why can't you wipe my memory?"

He grinned again. "Now, now. Don't be a spoilsport. I've needed a good laugh since I came here, and what's better than to play with one of my most..._troublesome_ students. Go to bed, _Mr Weasley_."

I sloped out of the room, completely awestruck by the happenings. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe George and I never had come up with the plan to go to Moody's office with the map. Maybe.

A hard pinch to my upper arm brought me back to shocking reality.

* * *

The next morning, I was greeted by George, who had chopped his hair to the same length as mine. I smiled weakly, glad he had done it. I knew he prefered to have longer hair. He knew better than to discuss what had happened last night, however, as I had floated into the common room in such an eerie manner, and just mumbled whenever someone tried to ask me something. George decided to just sum up that Professor Moody had blown up in anger when I'd turned up at his door.

Well, it was half true. Professor Moody's doppleganger had.

During breakfast, Crouch wasn't at the teachers table. It wasn't a suprise; polyjuice potion took a month to prepare, as he had said. Clearly, he'd sent a message to the other teachers, most likely telling them that it was my fault, as Professor McGonagall glared down at me dissaprovingly.

"Fred. Word has it that it's going to be a spiffing night tonight. Shall we go to the Astrology Tower and leave some Puking Pastilles for Professor Trelawney?" George nudged me, sniggered.

The thought of Professor Trelawney finding pretty sweets on her desk when she came in, believing that she had done something righteous and the Gods had left her a gift, and then throwing up her guts all over the tower snapped me out of my trance. I grinned. "Yeah, that sounds funny. We could--" I remembered. "Oh...I can't...I have detention..." I shrunk back in my seat.

"_What_?" George whined. "Brilliant. Moody, was it..?" His initiuative tone indicated that he wanted to know what had gone on.

"Mmhm." I mumbled, and left it at that. George shrugged it off, and reached for another vat of pumpkin juice. "Never mind, mate. All the more time for tedious ideas. Are you in detention all week?"

I nodded.

"Well, I hope he doesn't kill you. He has a knack for unforgivable curses, doesn't he?" George grinned.

The memory of his wand pointing at me the last night sent a shooting pain through my body. I shuddered.

"...Yeah.

* * *

The first detention, I thought was the worst detention.

I sloped up to the Defence classroom. It was the week before Christmas, and I was in _detention_. I didn't even know teachers could _give_ detention in the holidays. Then again, Crouch wasn't exactly a teacher. I knocked on the office door quietly, half-hoping he was sleeping again.

"Who is it?" He rasped, clearly trying to impersonate Moody's voice, which he couldn't in his current form.

"Fred Weasley," I replied monotonously.

There was a pause, and a whirring noise which I could only distinguish as the sneakascope, which he was probably peering through, to make sure. "Enter."

I pushed the handle, looking behind me nervously, and hurried into the office, backing up against the door immediately. Barty was pointing his wand at my chest, blue eyes peircing into me. He was cleanly shaven. It made him look...younger.

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No! No, I swear I didn't."

"Hm. If only someone else could be in on this, then we could make the unbreakable vow."

I cringed at the thought, remembering the time me and George almost made Ron do it.

"I didn't, honest." He lowered his wand, and directed it at the cauldron.

"Heat it up."

Nodding, I shuffled over to the cauldron, and pointed my own wand at the firewood beneath it, muttering incantations under my breath. I was so panicky, so nervous, worried that I was going to do something wrong and this monster would kill me, that I couldn't say the spell properly. I ended up causing a firework to erupt from my wand, a bang so loud it sent me flying into the air, crashing into the vibrating trunk that was nearby. It started screaming on contact.

I shrieked in shock, and started backing away from the trunk, straight back into the cauldron. The firework had set fire to the ash that was already below the cauldron, and I burnt the backs of my shins. A whimper escaped my throat, as the melting pain that only occurs from burns whipped down my legs.

My arms were grabbed roughly, and I was hauled away from the mess I'd caused. Barty's arms interlocked behind my elbows, pinning my back to his cjest. I struggled slightly, but was too stunned to open my mouth and demand he let me go.

"You're a complete idiot, Weasley," he growled, throwing me aside and flicking his wand at the flaming cauldron. A spout of water spilled from his wand and doused out the fire. He turned his wand on the trunk, and it silenced immediately. "Luckily for you," he muttered, turning back towards me, where I was half-sat, half-splayed on the ground. "I already prepared enough polyjuice potion this morning, it just needs a month to brew."

"So why did you make me light the cauldron?" I replied, knitting my eyebrows together.

He shrugged, that sinful smirk dragging at the corners of his mouth. "You needed something to do in your detention. But frankly, you've made a fool of yourself, so I think you should just leave right now."

My face lit up. "Really?"

He laughed loudly. "Not in a million years, Mr Weasley."

I sighed, irritated.

"Tell me. Did George cut his hair?"

"...yes."

"Hmm. And here I was hoping it'd be a chance to distinguish the pair of you."

"Don't talk about my family, or I'll..." I mumbled, so quietly it was barely heard. He bent low and hovered his face in front of mine.

"Are you _threatening _me, Mr Weasley?" He grinned. "Do you know who I _am_? What I can _do_?"

"No."

"Tell me, Weasley." Barty sat down in front of me, his legs in front of him, practically splayed around me, so I was trapped between him, and the wall. "Who do you value the most?"

"George, of course." I didn't even need to think about it. "We're going to move out and start a shop when we leave school. A joke shop. It'll have a huge opening ceremony and everything."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Beautiful. Totally _riveting_. I'm delighted." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You're not invited," I added.

"Gutting," he responded. "Because my life revolves around your ridiculous _joke shop_. I at least hoped you would say something that would make you a legend in the wizarding world."

"What have _you_ done with your life?" I snarled back. "I bet I can guess.." I grabbed at his left arm, and ripped his leather sleeve up. Just as I expected; the squirming, charcoal-coloured skeletal sign glowed on his inner arm. He snatched his arm away quickly, and pulled his sleeve back down. "So why are you _here_, hmm? Who are you going to kill for your devoted Dark Lord?"

"That is none of your business."

"And my values in life are none of _yours_."

There was a silence.

"If we weren't having such an..._intriguing _conversation, I would have you reliving the torture curse again, Weasley."

I supressed my shudder. I'd been awake all night previously, my dreams full of the pain and flashing light of the Cruciatus curse. Unfortunately, Barty noticed me trying to hide my quiver.

"Clearly, it's been having some...undesired effect, yes?"

"You _wish_," I lied haughtily. I shoved at his knees. "Get _away _from me..."

"How _rude_," he practically whispered, and edged closer. "Didn't Mummy ever teach you some manners? I would've thought dear Molly Weasley would've tried something, after constantly breeding like a rabbit for the last century..."

I gritted my teeth. "Leave my mother out of this," I hissed.

"Why? What're you so scared of? Don't you want to know what your sex-crazy, mind-controlling mother really is? A--" He caught my fist before I could punch him right in the face. "Weasley, we don't want any unfortunate accidents. Your mother would _not _be pleased at this behaivor.."

I lunged for his throat, shoving him back onto the hard floor and climbing on top of him, my knee pressed to his chest. "Take it back!" I yelled. "Take it _back_!"

"What're you gonna do, Weasley?" I saw the glint in his eye. "_Kill _me?"

My grip on his neck loosened, as I was reminded of yesterday.

"Come on, big man. _Kill me_. Get _revenge_. Make Mummy _proud_!" His eyes were widened so much they were practically popping out of his head, his smirk wide and unfaltering. "She's a _slut_! A _whore_! Bad Mummy, hmm?"

"_Avada Kedavra_!" I cried, tears pouring down my face. Nothing happened. True to his word in Moody's form, he didn't even get a nosebleed. He laughed loudly. It was a horrible sound, tearing right through me. But I knew what I _could _do. "_Crucio_," I muttered, my wand in his mouth. He bit down on the end of my wand and glared at me prominently as he started squirming, goosepimples rising on every inch of his skin I could see from the pain. I could see his pulse throbbing in the side of his neck. I pressed it with the pad of my thumb.

_"Cruci_--" I stopped. I felt something weird. Digging into my groin.

Oh my God, he was _aroused_.

I hauled myself off him, and backed against the door. "You _freak_!" I hissed. I grabbed the doorhandle, and ran through the classroom for all I was worth, horrified. He didn't make the effort to come after me, just stayed where he was, lying on the office floor. I ran and ran and ran. I didn't even pay attention to _where _I was running, but eventually, I turned up outside the Fat Lady.

George wasn't here. I guessed he'd gone up to the Astrology Tower with Lee. I didn't mind, I needed the solitude. I ran up to the dormitories and flung myself down in my bed, buring myself in the covers. Needing somewhere to hide.

* * *

I didn't go to the detentions after that. I knew it was bad, and he'd go _mental_, but I didn't care. I didn't think I could look Barty Crouch in the face again, after that.

The weeks rolled slowly by. Barty couldn't come out of his room to get me in his current state, but I knew as soon as school started again, I was a goner.

My presence was obviously low, and I could see George and Lee getting pissed off with me, but I couldn't bring myself to cheer up. I lightened up considerably on Christmas day, however. We recieved a lovely long letter from Mum, and every one of her wonderful words felt like I was stabbing Barty right in the chest, which was a brilliant feeling. She'd left us our usual presents; a hand (or wand) knitted jumper with the first initial of our names emblazoned on the chest, a huge box of christmas cakes and cookies each, and several other foody goodies that we would gorge on later. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had all left thoughtful presents, too. Bill sent me a stature of a green Welsh dragon, that flexed around on it's stand, roaring (or squeaking, which would be a more appropriate term for the sound) and blowing wisps of smoke. Charlie sent us both matching _Weird Sisters on Tour _t-shirts. We didn't even _like _the Weird Sisters, but it was thoughtful.

"Wow, we even got a card from Percy. He's usually far too up his own arse to care," George commented, as he held up a card. I noticed it had Percy's picture on the front, bearing his gleaming pearly smile, accompanied by a twinkling christmas tree. "He couldn't resist adding himself to it though, could he."

I laughed and pulled my jumper over my head, throwing Georges at him. "Come on, put yours on. I'm not being the only one going down to the Great Hall wearing it."

"I love Mum's jumpers," George said through the fabric as he pulled it on over his pyjama shirt.

"I love Mum's _cake_," I responded, taking a bite out of a peice of Christmas cake.

"I can't believe you're eating cake before breakfast," he muttered as we strolled out of the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

The first week of the new term wasn't too bad.

Of course, we had no proper Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, so that probably explained it. Instead Professor Flitwick took over, muttering constantly about this "ridiculous" subject, and that he "had better things to teach".

As Sunday rolled round, my stomach was beginning to feel heavy. Tomorrow, it would've been exactly four weeks since I saw Barty. He'd have his polyjuice potion well prepared, and even though I didn't _know _the guy very well, I knew that he most certainly, _definitely _wouldn't be happy about my escape on the night of my first detention.

And agreeably unhappy about the fact I didn't turn up for the set detentions in the rest of the week.

I closed my eyes, laying back in my four-poster bed, and enjoyed the last few hours of what felt like freedom.

True to form, he strolled into the Great Hall the next morning, limping slightly on the false leg he had 'borrowed' from the real Mad-Eye Moody, and the magical eye swivelled towards me instantly, fixed on me, and didn't leave me at all.

I cringed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but Professor Moody's mad-eye has been over in this direction all morning," Ron pointed out.

"Don't stare back!" Hermione hissed.

I didn't look back at Crouch, terrified that I might not be able to stop staring if I did. Instead, I hurriedly shovelled the rest of my breakfast down my throat, and rushed out of the Great Hall, muttering something about a book I needed from the library. I knew George wouldn't believe me, but he didn't have time to stop me. I couldn't bear to sit through the morning with that eye gazing intently at me.

They would all be discussing me, now. George would be worriedly conferring with the small group how strange I'd been acting since I went to Moody's office with the map, the first time. Harry would stick his thrill-seeking nose in, desperate to know what I was doing.

I couldn't let them find out. I couldn't even confide in _George_.

Several times that week, before my Defence lesson, I passed Crouch in the hallway. Maybe it was fate, telling me to face up with Barty. Maybe it was just pure coincidence. Maybe he was just _following _me. But everytime we passed, he stared me down, and even when he was behind me, I could feel that swivelling eye in my back.

After the first terrible, uncomfortable Defence lesson, I tried to get out quickly, but he said what I'd been dreading to hear all lesson.

"Weasley, can I have a word."

George and I both turned around at once.

"_Fred_," Barty corrected. George stayed where he was anyway. "Privately."

I bit my lip.

George groaned and rolled his eyes, slouching out of the door. "Go right to your next lesson, George, I can see you," Barty said, slamming the door behind George. He leaned against it, and turned back to me. The matted grey hair was slowly moulding fair, and the lines on his face were filling slightly. Freckles began to appear on his nose, and his weight decreased rapidly, his clothes beginning to sag. He pulled the eye from his face, and kicked the false leg to the ground as a new one began to grow back in place. All too suddenly, he was the person I'd been dreading to see for the last four weeks.

"Polyjuice potion sure doesn't last long, huh," I mumbled, averting my gaze to the floor.

"Certainly not," Barty murmured. "An hour, tops. I deliberately didn't keep drinking through the lesson so I wouldn't have to speak to you in Alistor's form."

I didn't reply.

"I'm very angry, Weasley," he muttered. "Very, very angry. Ask me why."

"Why?"

He took a step closer, his arms behind his back. "You were very rude. You made a run for it. If I was a proper qualified teacher, I'd give you an approved punishment. " He paused. "But I'm not a qualified teacher. Which means I can give you a disapproved punishment."

I stared at him blankly.

Another step forward. Leaning down, his left cheek pressing against my right, and whispering in my ear.

"_Because disapproved is more fun, wouldn't you say_?"

My lip shook. His breath was hot against my earlobe. Wet, even. Wait, what?

He was _kissing _me. Kissing my ear, my neck, my jaw. I stared at the door behind him, unblinking, completely paralysed with shock. What was he _doing_? He was a professor! He was a _death eater_! He was a _man_! I was straight!

Or so I thought.

But..I couldn't push him away. It felt...too good. Too bad.

So I stayed where I was, my arms hanging by my sides, my knees beginning to tremble. He pushed me along, until the backs of my legs made contact with a nearby desk. His hands clawed around my waist, hauling me into a sitting position on the desk, so I was situated at a higher level than him. His tongue began drawing intricate patterns on my throat.

"I don't...no...Prof..._Barty_.." I tried to string a sentence out, to no avail.

He was growling something by my neck, his fingers swiping at the buttons on my shirt. "Fucking...prettyboy...ugh..."

I pressed my palms lightly to his shoulders in a useless effort to push him away. He barely seemed to notice, his lips attatching to my pulse once again. "Wanted...to do this...when you threw yourself on me....the first time--"

A loud, sharp knock on the door pulled him back down to earth. He tore himself away from me, snatching at the flask in his pocket, and taking a long drink. His skin bubbled, inflated, wrinkled, and his hair greyed. His leg began to vanish in on itself, dissapearing with a '_pop_', and he strapped the false leg on, and fastened the eye back around his head. Almost instantly, he was Moody again. I jumped down from the table.

"You're in detention..." he muttered. "For the next four evenings. For your refusal to attend in the Christmas holidays. I'll come and find you myself, if you fail to come." He pulled open the door. Snape was stood there, his lips pursed, looking down his long nose, first at Moody, then turning to raise an eyebrow at me. "Run along, Weasley," Barty glared at me prominently. I kept my gaze glued to the floor as I scurried past Snape, and along the corridor.

I was shaking all over. I felt _dirty_. _Impure_. Disgusted at him, and myself for not making more of an effort to get away. This was the man who impersonated Moody, for reasons I was still not sure of, but he was a follower of You-Know-Who, so it couldn't be good. The man who insulted my _mother _in such a crude and disgusting way.

I didn't want to think about him now.

Thinking of funny and happy things, I shuffled along the corridor to Charms. But no matter what I thought of, whichever ridiculous moment came to mind, like the encounter with Filch getting half-swallowed by a hexed toilet in the Ravenclaw tower, I couldn't even smile. I stopped in the middle of the corridor, and hung my head. Soon my shoulders were shaking, and I felt a dampness around my eyes, a lump growing almost painfully in my throat.

Cowering behind some large, greatly enhanced tapestry, I cried silently.

"Oh, dear, what's wrong with you?" A voice murmured soothingly. I looked up, around, and a small, plump woman in a large mahogony-framed portrait surveyed me back. She was wearing a purple, medieval style dress, and had a stained yellow apron tied around her waist. Her hair was fastened up in a loose topknot, several thick glossy brown strands hanging around her rounded face.

"Oh...I'm sorry..." I mumbled, suddenly terrified of disturbing more portraits around her. Several ancient wizards and witches were beginning to eye me in irratation.

"No, no. Have you broken up with a girlfriend?" The lady asked.

"...No," I replied, slowly. "I'm just...hurt. And confused. I don't think...it should be discussed."

"Oh," she looked slightly upset. "I understand."

"Not because I don't want to tell you," I said hurriedly. "But...I might get...into trouble..." Barty's snarling face came to mind, accompanied by the gleam and flash of the light _Crucio _provided.

* * *

George could tell I'd been crying straight away.

I didn't go to Charms, instead hung around the portraits a long time, and when I finally decided to make tracks, with several words of wisdom and advice on cheering up from Lady Henrietta (I politely asked the plump lady her name before I left), it was the end of the schooling day, and the only place I could really go, other than the library or the Great Hall, was the common room. And I really wasn't hungry.

As soon as I pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait to enter the common room, my twin lunged at me. He gripped my face in either hand, his eyes, the exact reflection of mine, scanning my facial features expertly. Other Gryffindors around were looking at us nervously, but when George discovered dried-up traces of tears, he dragged me towards the domitory stairs.

"Okay you lot...get back to your knitting..." George called out to our onlooking peers as I was pulled up the stairs by the sleeve. My twin flung me onto his bed, sat down opposite me, and whipped the curtains around us both. "What happened to you?" He demanded to know, sounding concerned.

"It's just...Moody--he can be a little...weird...hard on you, sometimes, y'know...it was because I didn't go to the detentions in the holidays.." I stuttered. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"It's not just today though, Fred. You've been acting weird around me since before Christmas."

"Like I said, Moody," I protested.

"Has he done something weird to you?" George lowered his voice. "Did he use an Unforgivable?"

"D-don't be stupid!" I lied swiftly. I couldn't tell George that Barty had used an Unforgivable, he'd tell me to go to Dumbledore. Then I'd have to explain why I didn't want to go to Dumbledore. Which was partially because I'd used the Cruciatus curse on Barty as well. Plus, if I did end up telling Dumbledore the entire truth...Barty...

...Why did I care? For a moment, I realised that I wasn't just afraid Barty would kill me. It wasn't genuine concern for Barty's welfare...but for some reason, I didn't want him to be caught.

George sighed. "There's something wrong with you. Something you're not telling me." His eyes gazed into me knowingly. I wrung my wrists in my lap, and looked down at the bedsheets like they were suddenly increasingly interesting.

"I'm sorry, George...I've just been...withdrawn...lets not talk about it?" I looked up at him pleadingly.

George sighed once again. "Okay. But...if something weird comes up again, I'm gonna think you're planning something without me." He grinned, stood up, and left the four-poster. I heard the thump of his feet as he hurried down the stairs.

I rolled onto my front and buried my face in Georges pillow, inhaling deeply. It smelled...like innocence. If we'd never come up with the idea to go to Moody's office with the map, I could be enjoying that same innocence.

Everytime I closed my eyes, all I could feel were his lips ghosting over my skin, his icy blue eyes penetrating my brain.

* * *

The first detention was nothing. I'd been dreading it all day, but it was practically _normal_. Barty didn't say a word to me. He simply pointed to a desk at the front of the classroom, and wrote on the board that I was to copy out a chapter of my Potions book until two hours passed. He sat at the desk facing the classroom, and wrote all over what appeared to be students classwork. I was almost tricked once again, that he was a normal teacher. He didn't let his image faulter, constantly sipping the polyjuice potion from the flask.

I admitted, I was dissappointed. I at least had been hoping for an apology, or some kind of commemoration about how he had acted previously.

The second night, however, was different. Barty stared at me the entire time, his chin propped in his hands whilst I copied from another chapter of my dreaded potions textbook. He didn't continue taking polyjuice potion. After half an hour, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his hair lightening and his frame shrinking.

I pretended not to notice. He wasn't making an effort to get back into Moody's appearance, anyway.

"Severus told me you detest Potions, Fred."

I blinked down at my paper, my quill spilling a tiny, messy ink-droplet on my page. This was the first time he'd used my first name. Well, without adding "Weasley" onto the end.

"I didn't know you and _Severus_ were on a first name basis," I replied smoothly. "In fact, I didn't know you were on a first name basis with me, either."

"Severus and I were in school together. Though of course, he doesn't know I am here," he added.

"Suprising."

"What's that supposed to mean, Fred?" Barty's voice was softer than before.

"He's a big bad death eater too, isn't he? Or was. I don't know how Dumbledore would let him teach if he was still one." Even though I wasn't looking at Barty, I could picture the look of confusion on his face.

"How on earth would you come to know that?" He leaned forward in his seat.

"Random guess. He fits the picture. Greasy, snivelling, ugly. Y'know. Like a death eater." I glanced at my 'teacher'.

He scowled.

"Loathsome things to say, Weasley," he growled.

"Oh, just 'Weasley' again, is it?" I gritted my teeth, and scratched the words so hard onto my parchment, the nib tore through slightly.

There was a small silence, broken only by the etching sound my quill was making on paper. Then the horrible, squeaking sound of the metal legs of his chair on tiled floor echoed through the classroom as he stood up.

I swallowed loudly.

His fist grabbed the front of my jumper and hauled me up. I wasn't wearing my school uniform, seeing as it was out-of-education hours. He clenched the material at my neck and glared at me.

"Apologise," he spat.

"In your dreams," I choked, both my hands gripping his fist.

"Apologise!" He repeated, louder this time.

"Not until you apologise for the things you said about my mother!" I shouted back.

He laughed cruelly. "Oh, I'm very sorry," he said sarcastically. "Really, I am." But his grasp on my front didn't cease. Instead he pulled me over the desk, so roughly I nearly toppled over it, and started dragging me up to his office, throwing me inside and slamming the door behind us. I had to dive to one side to stop myself from lunging into the even bigger cauldron that was so inconveniently placed in the centre of the office.

I spun around, backing up against his desk and staring at him.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin. I'm not going to rape you!" He snapped. He walked across the room, and picked up the misty-glassed mirror I'd noticed before. "Do you know what this is, Fred?" Once again, his voice softened.

"A foe-glass," I replied just as breezily. I shook myself out of the airy state. How could his melting tones have an effect on me?

"Correct," he responded, stepping closer to me. "You don't want to be someone I see in my foe-glass, do you, Fred?"

Well, technically it wasn't his foe-glass. I tried to say that, but my mouth refused. "No," I tactly answered.

He placed the foe-glass down on a shelf nearby, and came closer still. I could smell him, now. Like spiced ginger and fruity shampoo.

My mind was screaming at me to run for it, to kick him in the stomach, to do _something_. But my wand was out in the classroom. Even if I wanted to, anyway, I couldnt've moved. Once again I seemed rooted to the spot, my eyes averted only on the figure in front of me.

Barty's left hand touched my shoulder, then trailed down the right side of my chest, until it came into contact with my hipbone. He slid his arm around my waist, and instead of rejecting him, I allowed myself to be pulled in. He was warm, this was warm. I let my forehead rest on his shoulder as his mouth found my neck once more.

His lips pressed softly along every freckle on the base of my neck, my throat, my jawline, until his face loomed into view and I could feel his breathing at the corner of my mouth. My head instinctively turned, and I didn't realise what I'd done until my mouth locked with his.

The free arm that had been neglected of my body found my waist and back too, and my hands crawled up his torso, drifting around the back of his neck, holding his head in place. His lower arms and hands grabbed at my rear suddenly, and broke the kiss to hoist me up into a sitting position on his desk, standing in front of me.

My legs wrapped themselves intuitively around his hips, and he pressed back against me, my hands burying in locks of fair hair, the need for his mouth on my mouth becoming expressive. What was this? Why was I doing this? He leaned forward, pushing me down on the desk, until I was laying on my back. Various books and stacks of paper dug into my spine, and I stared up at the ceiling as his face nuzzled into my chest.

His fingertips were dancing around the hem of my jumper, pushing the material upwards slowly and glissading his hands across my lower belly. I shuddered, my eyes fogging over. But that little voice in my head was demanding that I show no sign of enjoyment. I didn't like this. I didn't _want _this. Did I?

"Relax," Barty mumbled into the screwed-up folds of my jumper which were mounting up in front of my neck, the further he pushed my sweater up. "Just relax." His head went lower, his hair tickling my skin, his tongue swirling around my navel.

"But...why...no, _stop_," I whined. My jumper was pulled off my head, and Barty leaned back up to my face, tongue dipping into the small crevice between my collarbones, and circling my pulse. My entire body shook at this particular spot, and he sucked at the skin there softly.

"Why?" Barty whispered. His hands slid down to my hips, and I supressed a sound of astonishment when he pressed his knee gently into my groin. "You want this, too."

I closed my eyes, chewing my bottom lip. I breathed out, letting my arms return around his neck. His hands were everywhere.

He crawled up onto the desk, and straddled my waist. He wasn't heavy. I wasn't uncomfortable. This didn't feel in the slightest disturbing or vexatious. He ran his hand through my hair gently, and turned to kiss my face again. My lips met with his, and I was greeted by fireworks and explosions once again. His other arm crawled down my body, sliding under the waistband of my jeans. I almost screamed in bliss and melancholy.

Right then, the tiny little bell went off that signified the end of detention.

Barty could've carried on, and I could've let him, but the shrill noise seemed to shock us both to our senses. Barty shot away from me, like my skin was poker-hot, and I scrambled off his desk frantically, wrenching my jumper over my head with such effort, it almost ripped.

"You should go,"

"I should go," Barty and I both spoke at the same time. I scooted past him, and he slammed the office door behind me. I looked down at the false leg and the magical eye spinning around on the floor of the classroom, and ran from there, hardly sure of how would be able to explain tonights behavior to George.

There was only one way to play it. Extremely fake. And even then, George was likely to guess I was pretending.


End file.
